Traumatized Lake County residents struggle to shake Valley fire’s blow

It’s often the wail of a siren or the staccato beat of a helicopter overhead. It can be a dry, gusting wind or the acrid scent of smoke.

But for thousands of residents who endured the firestorm that transformed much of southern Lake County into a smoldering ruin one year ago, it can take very little to reignite the terror and anxiety of that time.

Many who escaped the towering flames had to flee through them, hurtling along narrow mountain roads as dense, black, smoke filled the afternoon sky.

Four people were killed, likely in those chaotic first hours, a fifth is still missing, his remains never found.

Four elite helitack firefighters overrun by flames came close to being the fire’s first fatalities. Their tent-like emergency fire structures did not shield them from severe burns.

Those who survived were nevertheless victims, losing homes, pets and possessions, some irreplaceable. Many are understandably still nervous and grief-stricken.

So when a particularly red sunset appeared earlier this summer, backlighting mountain ridges lined with blackened trees, the response from traumatized residents in the Cobb area was telling.

“People were packing,” said Gretchen Mills, the leader of a federally funded crisis counseling team that has served thousands of people since the wildfire’s earliest days. “It was terrifying.”

The 76,000-acre blaze last year was the third in a string of wildfires that ravaged southern Lake County last year. At least four families that were burned out and started over in the community of Lower Lake lost their new homes last month, when the Clayton fire blackened nearly 4,000 acres of land and destroyed 300 structures.

Ten days after that, a lakeside resort cabin, garage and wood pile went up in flames near Kelseyville, briefly threatening surrounding vegetation, and about 70 panicked residents from several miles around called to see if they needed to evacuate, Kelseyville Fire personnel said.

“The entire community has gone through the Valley fire - up close - whether very closely or more peripherally,” Mills said. “But all of us have been impacted by that, and of course the fire in Lower Lake was just a huge trigger for many.”

Shelly Mascari, community health director for St. Helena Hospital Clear Lake, was in charge of the facility response during the Valley fire, in which she lost her own home in Cobb. She was widowed two years ago, as well.

Mascari goes to regular counseling, exercises and practices mindfulness to help process “that collection of catastrophes.” But she found herself anxious, shaky and tearing up when faced with making decisions for the hospital during the Clayton fire last month.

“I felt really an emotional trigger response to it happening again,” Mascari said, “and had to be really conscious and disciplined in my thinking.”

Mills and others said the one-year anniversary of the Valley fire this week is likely to trigger adverse reactions, provoking strong memories and anxiety.?The passage of a year is like “a forced stock-taking moment,” with potential for disappointment and disillusionment over how much progress has been made toward recovery, Mills said.

Mills and Manuel Orozco, who coordinates the California HOPE crisis counseling program on behalf of the county’s behavioral health division, said fear, anxiety, grief and depression are all normal reactions to trauma. But mental health care providers have focused over the past year on helping clients develop and identify coping tools that help them work through their emotions, rather than pack them away until they fester.

Through one-on-one counseling, group sessions and educational forums, the team has helped several thousand people connect with services and learn resiliency. But it may take years.

“You can’t go through a traumatic event like that without having some emotional impact,” Orozco said. “It’s your ability to deal with that emotional impact that is what we go through.”

Still, there are people, Mills said, who can’t drive up Cobb Mountain - where the fire originated and stormed down into neighborhoods - or for whom the movie they were watching when the fire started will always be a fearful reminder.

Emotional and physical exhaustion are rampant, as well as frustration with recovery. For some, just being surrounded by so much destruction is too much to take, residents said.

Mills described a wave of survivors who remained in what she called the “heroic first response phase” for months after the fire, providing leadership in their families or community. Suddenly they found themselves eight months in having trouble sleeping, having dark, intrusive thoughts, and generally observing unexpected “chinks in their armor.”

County residents “are tired of grieving, and they want to get on with it,” said Barbara Flynn, a 45-year Cobb resident and community leader. “People just want normalcy.”

But the region’s continuous bout with wildfire keeps shattering any peace. The Clayton fire came and “really affected us,” Flynn said. “It was like a déjà vu, and I think it hit us really hard.”

Emily Newfield, whose home near Hoberg’s resort in Cobb was destroyed last year, recently moved with her husband into a new manufactured home. But in a neighborhood that’s still largely empty, it feels a little strange, a little too wide open for comfort.

“I think people are still hurting,” said Newfield, 64. “Sometimes, I wake up in tears still.”

You can reach Staff Writer Mary Callahan at 707-521-5249 or mary.callahan@pressdemocrat.com.